


Like

by dsa_archivist



Category: due South
Genre: Humor, M/M, Romance, Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2004-05-16
Updated: 2004-05-16
Packaged: 2018-11-10 12:51:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,072
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11127345
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dsa_archivist/pseuds/dsa_archivist
Summary: An encounter with The Stella give Fraser just the push he needs!





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**Author's Note:**

> Note from Speranza, the archivist: this story was once archived at [Due South Archive](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Due_South_Archive). To preserve the archive, I began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in June 2017. I tried to reach out to all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [Due South Archive collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/duesoutharchive).

  
Like

## Like

by Aouda Fogg

Disclaimer: The boys don't belong to me. I'm just playing and will put   
them back undamaged . . . and happy :)   


Author's Notes: A huge thank you kindly to the people who betaed this   
story for me and made it better! And to Bast, who pointed out that Ray   
still had his pants on at an inopportune moment.   


Story Notes: none

* * *

I don't like her. 

There are very few people I actively dislike. Zacharias Talbot is one; when we were in 3rd grade, he deliberately pushed me out onto thin ice. My brand new sled fell through and I barely escaped following after it. No doubt it is a failing, but I have never completely forgiven the loss of that sled. It was blue. 

So, while there are very few people I actively dislike, Zacharias is one. Muldoon, of course, although I have tried to let that go. _She_ is another. 

I know it's petty. I know I should find a way to rise above it or shift my focus or find something about her I do like, but as of yet, I have been unsuccessful. 

I try again, determined and thinking hard. 

She is extremely proficient at her job. 

This is quite true; she has a remarkable conviction rate, and she is a tenacious prosecutor. There is, however, a . . . ruthless quality to her work that never quite veils her ambitiousness. I have never subscribed to the opinion that any woman who stands up for herself or is assertive and intelligent must, therefore, be -- to use the popular term -- a bitch. That kind of thinking does no credit to either gender, to say nothing of the fact that it is wrong. I simply do not care for the way she conducts herself. 

Yes, well, as I've said, my perceptions do need some adjustment and may, perhaps, be a bit biased. 

I try again: she is a skilled dancer. 

I do not have any first-hand knowledge of this fact, but I have been assured she dances well. 

All right. 

Yet this fact does nothing to help me accept her personality. This gives us no common ground; I don't dance. Or, more accurately, I dance very little. I evidently have the rhythm of a stick, although Ray assures me that our recent practice has advanced me to a bendy stick, like a willow branch. 

At least it's progress. 

Still, this second attempt has done nothing to mediate my feelings. 

She dresses professionally. 

Sadly, I care even less about someone's wardrobe than I do dancing. Besides, to quote Ray, I'm "reaching." 

Rational thought is clearly not overcoming emotion, a situation that I should perhaps find dismaying, but I don't. The last few months have been a revelation; I am learning to not retreat from emotions. I still have much to learn, but I must admit, I'm coming to appreciate not only actually admitting I have emotions, but also not feeling compelled to hide them. 

It feels good to feel this way and to admit it without even mental censorship: she has repeatedly hurt someone I care about deeply. That fact outweighs any attempt I am able to muster to find something positive about the woman. 

Which leads me back to not liking her. I'm quite sure the feeling is mutual. A cool nod and "Corporal" is all I ever receive as acknowledgement from her. Other than that, she ignores me. She is very good at it. She is doing it now. 

Her back is to me as she sits on the corner of Ray's desk. Assistant State's Attorney Stella Kowalski is very adept at body language. (You see, I am trying.) I'm sure she is aware that the particular angle she has chosen displays her legs to best advantage, and that it allows her to learn forward and show just a hint of dcolletage. She has also lowered her voice to an intimately low tone as she talks to her ex-husband, my current . . . lover. We aren't married, although one day I hope to call him my spouse, but he is quite a deal more than a . . . boyfriend. Besides, that sounds like we were teenagers. Lover has the disadvantage that it does much to reduce our relationship solely to what we do in bed together, but it will suffice for now. We also live together; have since finally admitting our feelings on our quest. Very few people know about us. She is not one of the few. 

Perhaps we should tell her. We both realize it would be better for her to hear it from Ray than from some other source. It might also finally put an end to uncomfortable tableaus like this, but both Ray and I are all too aware of the risks involved in being in an open homosexual relationship while being an active member of a police force, and he is uncomfortable with putting her in what might be an awkward position since she is also part of the law enforcement community. He did try once, but she wasn't in a listening mood and her words as she'd dismissed him had persuaded Ray to drop it. Neither of us cares for the secrecy, but for the moment it seems the most prudent course of action. 

Except in times like these. Times when Stella appears and decides that today she is interested in my Ray. I believe it has gotten worse since her relationship with Ray Vecchio seems to have stalled. I have learned better than to ask Ray Vecchio about such matters, and I'm certainly not going to ask Stella. 

Still, at times like these, I want to give in to the urge swelling inside me - I want to grab her, send her flying across the room, far away from him, and growl that he is MINE. That she lost, I won, and to stay away. 

Clearly Diefenbaker does not hold a monopoly on territoriality in our family unit. 

Taking a deep breath both physically and mentally, I refrain from doing anything. I don't even step between them, tempting as it might be. 

After all, I trust Ray. I know him. We have talked about this issue; he tired of her games long ago, and, happily, she has lost much of the power she once had to wound him. He first recognized this in Canada, and since our return, he seems less and less affected by her. Her words might still sting, he says, but they no longer hit him deeply or, to use his phrase, rock him. 

Besides, he loves me, not her. 

The words are becoming a mantra. I try not to focus on the fact that there are days when having teeth like Dief's would be a definite advantage. 

Abandoning my mental cartwheels, I focus on their conversation. 

"So, Ray, I thought you might like to celebrate your citation for the Sante case. I was thinking a bottle of chardonnay at Jacque's. They've expanded their dance floor, and you know you've always liked the band." 

Ah, she is using the lure of dancing to draw him in. She does know him well - and yet, at the same time, she does not: chardonnay? How can she not know he doesn't particularly care for wine, especially most whites? I'm pleased when his reply backs up my thoughts. 

"You know, Stella, I'm really not a chardonnay kind of guy." 

Ha! 

"All right." Her shrug is eloquently accommodating even from the back. "Merlot." 

I can see him flash a quick smile. "You know I'm more of a beer kind of guy." 

Exactly. She should know this. After all, she is the one who tried to make him conform to the Ray she wanted him to be instead of the Ray he is. 

The angle of her spine makes it clear she is a bit put out by his unenthusiastic response. "Fine, you can drink whatever you like. But let me take you out - it'll be like old times: you, me, dancing." 

"Gee, Stel, I really appreciate the invitation, but I've kind of already got plans for a celebration." 

Indeed he does. With me. A getaway at a cabin upstate this weekend. We're already packed. Luckily her back is still to me so I don't have to worry whether or not my pleasure in this fact is clear. 

This time her displeasure is clear in her voice. "I see. Well, they must be special plans to pass up a trip to Jacque's." 

She is fishing. Ray does not bite. 

"Yep." 

She stands up and quickly scoops up her briefcase from the floor. Clearly she is quite upset, and clearly she is unable to keep her irritation contained; she strikes back. This kind of behavior is yet another manifestation of why I dislike her. 

"I hope you have a nice time." Her tone could curdle lichen. She goes on. "Do you have the reports from the Collins case? I need them now." 

The intimate leaning and quiet tone are completely gone. Sarcasm and, evidently, the desire to punish, have taken their place. She knows as well as Ray and I that since the case was solved less than four hours ago, Ray has 44 hours left to complete the paperwork she is demanding. 

I almost say something to that effect, but his eyes arrest my words; anger flashes in them very briefly, but it is swiftly replaced by almost tolerant amusement. I think he is struggling not to grin. His calmness restores some of my equilibrium and I watch him fold his arms behind his head so that his elbows are akimbo. 

"I'll be happy to give you what I have so far, Stella, but I think it'll be a lot more useful if you guys over in the S.A's office decide what you're going to charge him with first so I can actually fill in all those pretty little boxes." 

I can't help it. My lack of control is rather shameful, I admit, but there it is. I fear Ray has been a pernicious influence on me; he has helped me loosen up in many ways, and while this has made me a far happier person, it not infrequently gets me into trouble. Usually, however, I do a better job at containing the new me. I try to turn the noise into a polite cough, but the small, quiet snort of laughter colors it just the same. Oh, dear. 

<<<<0>>>>

Uh, oh, Fraser just laughed. Not good. That's gonna piss her off even more. Yep, there she goes - pinning him with a Stella Glare. Good thing he has the uniform on - the serge'll probably protect him. 

Hope so - I don't really want my Mountie singed. Like him the way he is. 

Ooh, she's got the whole forehead involved in this glare. She's in rare form today. `Course, I already knew that from the instant I'd seen her strolling towards my desk. She'd been working the hips, which she knew from days of yore was something, I, uh, well, enjoyed. Then there was the whole sitting-on-the-corner-of-my-desk-back-to-Fraser-leaning-most-the-way-into-Ray's-lap move. 

No one can ignore like Stella, take it from me, the world's expert on the subject. Her ignoring Ben really pisses me off, though, since she knows damned well that he's my friend (though not just _how_ good a friend), to say nothing of the fact that Ben's a good friend (in a very, very different way!) of the guy she's supposedly dating. I'm not even going to try and figure that relationship out. There are some things that just don't need exploring. But I haven't given her a bad time for dating Vecchio or ignored him, and I'm disappointed that she isn't making the same effort. 

I wonder what she's gonna say when I finally find the right time to tell her about me and Ben. I know it needs to be done, but I can't say I'm looking forward to the glares I'll be pinned with that night. When she treats Ben like he's something beneath her notice or something, it makes me just want to blurt it out just so I can watch her splutter. But that'd be doing it for all the wrong reasons. What Ben and I've got is way too special to be used as a weapon. 

When I'd seen her coming a few minutes ago, all I'd felt was a kind of weird sort of dread - I'd known she was up to something. None of the old pull or chemistry niggled at me. There'd been a bit of quiet remembrance of when that look really had been for me rather than an attempt to distract herself from whatever was really bothering her, but it was like hearing an old song you used to like; you recognize it, but you don't bother turning up the volume. I have Ben now, and the only game we play is an occasional Saturday night game of Scrabble when he begs all pretty. Makes life so much easier. Of course, it being strip Scrabble is just a bonus. 

Feels so good to have let my past with Stella go. We had some good times, grew up a lot together, but then we started growing apart and that didn't work so good. The being able to talk about anything had gotten buried under backlogged paperwork, empty milk cartons, office politics, fights about kids, dead end cases, power suits, yuppie parties where all they drank was Perrier and ate these weird hors d'oeuvres that tasted like something Dief would lick off a tree, and an endless array of other shit. 

Sitting on the sled one day while Fraser was driving, it'd suddenly hit me that I hadn't liked her for a long, long time. Talk about a revelation. Blew my mind. I know I liked the girl with the blonde pigtails and the one in the college library I made out with in the stacks. I even liked the idealistic Stella during her first few years as a Public Defender before she'd made the jump to the State's Attorney office. And, yeah, I'd really liked the rumpled Stella who woke up in my bed. But at some point, she'd gotten more interested in making S.A. before she was forty and whether her new pashmina sent the right statement than she was in going dancing with me, and I'd started losing track of things I liked about her. 

Don't get me wrong - our problems weren't all her fault. Takes two to tango, and I'm far from Mr. Perfect. Just ask Fraser. I let myself get buried in my own work. I stopped asking her to go dancing or bowling or hiking or to a concert or about her day, and when I did ask, I think I was doing more nagging and whining than really asking. And looking back at it now, I started doing things to bug her just to make her see me. Not real mature. 

But that day on the sled, I realized that all through the last, horrible months of our marriage, through the divorce, the crap months after it, and me chasing her when she was dating that alderman weenie, that I'd been obsessing over the old Stella, the one I'd been friends with, the one I'd liked. I'd been holding on to an image that wasn't real anymore. 

I think I felt about twenty pounds lighter that day. Was surprised Fraser didn't say something about the sled going faster. Later that night, I realized the vague yearning I hadn't been letting myself feel in the pit of my stomach wasn't for Stella; it was for the man I was out there questing with. 

The next couple of days had been pretty peculiar. First I let one spouse go, only to realize I wanted Ben to be the next one, the last one. Then I'd freaked out a bit. Not about the guy-guy thing, but about how _right_ the thought of being with Fraser felt. Yeah, well, I was also the kid who always wanted to put his shoes on before his pants. Always had a talent for doing things the weird way around. But Fraser was the right way around. I just didn't know how to convince him of that little fact. 

Lucky for me, he'd been doing the same kind of thinking. 

A couple of nights later, he'd caught me staring at him, and the rest was history. And the best part? Well, maybe not the very best part, but one of the greatest, was that I _knew_ I liked him. Not like I'd go and brave ice demons and risk cold dangly bits for someone I couldn't stand being around. 

And just then, I think I'd've rather been out there on one of those "oh, my God, I'm never going to get warm again" ice floes than be here facing The Stella. 

She told me about her sister and the fact that her oldest is graduating from high school. Man, does that make me feel old. I remember holding him on his first day home from the hospital. Jeez. 

Finally, after a few more news bulletins from the old life (more divorces, a couple of promotions, her parents are going on another cruise), she got around to her real reason for being here: she wanted me to go dancing with her. 

I manfully resisted the urge to ask what Vecchio would think of this little invite. 

As I'm trying to figure out how to respond, I glanced up at Fraser. Ooo, couldn't say Ben was real pleased with that little development. Don't know if anyone else would be able to tell, but the skin around his eyes gets kind of . . . tight when something pisses him off and he's trying not to show it. 

I was so distracted by Ben that I answered back with a smart assed remark about how I'm not a chardonnay kind of guy. Like she didn't know this. 

I tried to deflect her next attempt with another light comment: "You know I'm more of a beer kind of guy." I could tell she wasn't real happy with me. Didn't take a Jedi Mind Trick - I've got years of practice sensing that one. 

The next second, like from a distance, I saw her mouth move and caught something about me drinking whatever I want and the good old days, and I realized I was falling back into old habits and kind of playing games, so I decided to be more plain. 

"Gee, Stel, I really appreciate the invitation, but I've kind of already got plans for a celebration." That I do. Me, Fraser, a cabin we found about 80 miles away, a huge fireplace, and if I'm real lucky, most of the economy sized tube of lube that's been just waiting for a special occasion. 

Yeah, she got the message all right. Her tone made that real clear. "I see. Well, they must be special plans to pass up a trip to Jacque's." 

For an instant, I almost told her the truth, but I didn't. "Yep." 

I really hadn't been trying to piss her off; I just wanted her to go away and leave Ben and me to the paperwork, but it looked like my talent for pissing her off hadn't lost any of its shine. She'd grabbed up her briefcase, and then she'd done a typical Stella: she became Prosecutor Woman. 

"I hope you have a nice time." Oh, yeah, sure she did. "Do you have the reports from the Collins case? I need them now." 

For a second, I got really angry. To pick a Fraser word: incensed. But then I got a hold on myself and realized I didn't need to buy into the whole mood switch thing. The thought that this was now Vecchio's problem almost made me smile, and I tucked my hands behind my head. Yeah, maybe it was a little cocky (ok, maybe a lot), but it felt so good not to be yanked into reacting. 

"I'll be happy to give you what I have so far, Stella, but I think it'll be a lot more useful to you if you guys in the S.A.'s office decide what you're going to charge him with first so I can actually fill in all those pretty little boxes." 

Which is when Ben did that almost laugh. Now, see, the way I figure it, he's spent so much of his life pushing all his emotions and feelings under the Sacred Stetson, that now he's knocking down some walls and relaxing, he doesn't have built in defenses for some stuff. Like, while someone else might've had years of practice disguising those little evil niggles of pleasure you get when someone you don't really like (yeah, I know he doesn't like her much - he tries to keep quiet about it, which is a perfect example of Ben the Polite, because he doesn't want to make me feel bad, but I know how he feels about The Stella) gets teased, Ben hasn't, so that laugh-snort thing snuck out. I can see his eyes laughing at what I said, too. Not that he'll admit it too often, but he really likes sarcasm - and he's real good at it. 

The big goof. But he's my big goof, and I love him walls up, down, picket, chain link, whatever. I'm having so much fun watching him that I miss Stella rounding on him, but I come back quick enough to catch the words flying out of her mouth. 

"Is something amusing you, Corporal? Don't you have passport applications to file, or some such vital duty?" 

I'm up on my feet before I realize it. Words fly out of my mouth now, jabbing along with my finger. "Hold it right there, Stella. You can say anything you like to me, but you sure as hell don't get to talk to Fraser that way, you got me?" 

She's standing there blinking. I'm breathing hard. The bullpen is quiet. Shit, shit, shit. But then I realize the Duck Boys are nodding, and Francesca is standing there, arms crossed, glaring at Stella so hard I'm surprised her earrings aren't melting and dripping onto her blouse. Even Dave Shepard is looking at her like she's psycho for going after Ben. 

Their unspoken support knocks my blood pressure down a big notch. Ben's quiet, "Ray," calms me down the rest of the way and I sink back into my chair. I keep the glare though. No way am I letting her get away with that shit. 

I see something flicker in her eyes, and I think maybe she's starting to put some pieces together, but I'm not about to tell her about Ben and me when I'm this pissed off. 

No one says anything for a long couple of seconds. Finally, words come to me. "I'll get those papers to you as soon as I can." 

"Fine." 

I think her tone would clear out a drain because all the gunk would run screaming in terror. She sweeps off, hand clenched on her briefcase and overcoat flapping over her other arm. Wonder if this means I'm off her Christmas list? 

Staring down at my desk, the last of my anger drains away and I'm left feeling sad. I'd rather be friends with the parts of her I still like, but I guess that isn't going to be possible. Probably would've been way easier if those plans of hers down in Florida had worked out and she'd stayed down there. 

Fraser's quiet voice cuts through the little zingers of regret dancing through my brain. 

"Ray? Are you all right?" 

Leaning back into my chair, I wave a hand. "Yeah, I'm good." 

"Ray--" 

"Nah, I'm good, buddy, really." And I am. I'm feeling like a real grown up, putting the past behind me, making a new life. "You ok? You got a pretty big dose of The Stella, there." 

"I'm quite well, Ray. I do feel I should apologize, however, for--" 

I cut him off. He's not the one who should be apologizing and I tell him so. He protests a bit more, I counter, and I think once I make it clear that I'm not upset and that she hasn't really upset me for me but for him, he calms down and we're good. And it's just that easy. We're just good. No lingering currents of uncertainty if the other one is really over it, no half-stories. I'm going to have to find a way to tell him how good this is making me feel. 

How he makes me trust myself. 

This isn't the time, though, so we get back to paperwork until he takes off about 4:00. He cracks me up when he tells me he's going to run by the store like it's some kind of treat. It's a good way to end the day. 

<<<<0>>>>

The idea resurfaced while sitting across from Ray filling out paperwork. I let it grow throughout the afternoon. It wasn't a new idea; I had been tossing it around in the back of my mind for quite a long time, so I didn't have to think about the "do I want to" and "is this the right thing" aspects of such an idea. Those elements had long been decided. I did want to, and I knew this was the right thing. The only question remaining was whether _this_ was the _right_ time. 

After further contemplation over a series of Chicago P.D. form J-155/c, I decided that waiting until the proverbial "perfect" time was impossible, perhaps even a paradox; waiting to find it would undoubtedly guarantee missing it. So, tonight. Tonight felt right: an ordinary day in our lives with some unpleasantness that would be washed away by tonight. 

Yes, tonight. 

I have some errands to run. 

<<<<0>>>>

I could tell from the look on Ben's face he had some serious shopping to do, which was kinda weird because I thought we had just done a major grocery expedition, but whatever. Still, I figured it would be a while before he got home, so I went ahead and finished the rest of the paperwork - gotta do my part to keep Welsh on his toes, wouldn't want to let him fall into a rut and think I was predictable - and then joined in when the Duck Boys started in on tall tales with a couple of the rookies. Couldn't see that owning a comedy place had improved either of their timing, but it was good to have them back. Not that I'd ever admit that out loud. 

After a bit and a retelling of the day of Greta Garbo and the Lake They Call Michigan with four part harmony and all kinds of groovy things like that, I head on home. I like to try and time it so that Ben's been home a few minutes before I get in. He told me one night that he loves having someone to welcome home, that being there and giving me a hug, and having dinner started or a beer ready for me, or something, really sends him. Still remember the feel of his voice against my chest as he admitted it. Slowly, with a lot of fits and starts, but he'd managed to convey the message in this quiet little voice that made me want to hunt down each person who'd hurt him and kill them dead. But, anyway, that whole sense of home thing really gets him, so while it doesn't always work, (and besides, I like to be there to welcome him sometimes) I try to get home a little after him much as I can. I love the quietly happy look he gets. His eyes just shine. 

And he gives seriously great hugs. You might not think so at first, but the man can cuddle like nobody's business. 

So I'm all set to see that look and get one of those hugs, but what greets me throws me. 

Something's weird. 

Not get out your gun weird, just . . . has-Ben-been-kidnapped-by-the-pod-people-or-something weird. 

He's got a CD on - now, that isn't so weird; he's been using the machine more lately, but usually he's got something like Enya or maybe the Beatles on. Something quiet and Benlike. Tonight, though, he's got U2 on - one of my favs, but not necessarily his. 

Interesting. 

Then the smells hits me. 

I take another sniff cuz I can't quite figure it out. I'd swear I was smelling pot stickers from Li's - it's the ginger sauce that gives it away - but there's also kielbasa? And . . . a . . . good God, is that mousaka from The Acropolis? 

"Ben?" I raise my voice so he can hear me over "Mysterious Ways" - how's that for appropriate? 

"Ray!" 

He comes striding out of the kitchen - and there's the look I was expecting. Happy smile, arms open wide. Distracts me from my confusion - so does the kiss. I kiss back, really glad to be home. 

"So how was the rest of your day?" 

I tell him about story time with the rookies, but I don't let him distract me for long. "You wanna tell me what's going on here? Am I smelling what I think I'm smelling? And why am I smelling it?" 

He grins. "Would you care to wash up or change while I finish getting dinner?" 

"You're dodging the questions." 

"Perhaps." 

I cock my head and look at him, but decide to play along. "Sure, just let me get some sweats on. Do I get answers then?" 

"I would say the probability is high." 

"You know," I shoot back as I head for our bedroom. "Mounties are a weird bunch." 

I can hear his reply even though I've got my shirt halfway over my head. "The probability of that is high as well." 

<<<<0>>>>

He's home about five minutes too early, but that's all right; I've almost completed my preparations and only have to carry the tray out to the living room. 

At least I have managed to recover my focus; when I first left the station to run my errands, I had so many approaches and ideas running through my head, it felt like my brain was doing an impression of the Mackenzie River during spring thaw. 

After realizing that I could hardly take him out for dinner and dancing, watch a Steve McQueen movie marathon, play strip poker, dance in front of a crackling fire, walk along Lake Michigan, order pizza with extra pineapple, make love with him all night, and several other ideas, all in one evening, I took a deep breath and made a list. 

I could, of course, hear Ray laughing in my head the entire time - perhaps I will tell him about it later if this evening goes the way I hope it will - but sitting down and writing things out proved very helpful. I narrowed my options, picked the ones that seemed the most appropriate, and set to work. 

By lucky happenstance, all of Ray's favorite restaurants are within a four block radius, so grumbling from Diefenbaker not withstanding, it was a simple matter to walk between the restaurants and pick up dinner: pot stickers with extra ginger sauce from Li's, kielbasa from Tczew on Holms, creamed corn from The Bull and Horn, mousaka from The Acropolis, and strawberry shortcake from Rachel's Diner. All of his favorites. A rather eclectic menu, but then, so is Ray. 

Since we already had copies of _Bullitt_ and _The Thomas Crown Affair_ (I'd decided to let him pick) at home in the video cabinet, my last stop was the jewelers just down the street from our apartment. Mr. Kim was more than willing to help me with the bracelet that had caught my eye several weeks ago. I found myself once again glad Ray had persuaded me to apply for a credit card. 

Armed with a wide variety of different sized packages, I returned to the apartment, showered, changed, and set the food out after hiding the smallest package under the couch. I could see Dief eyeing it, wanting to root under the couch and investigate, but he must have read something in the look in my eyes, because for once he left well enough alone. 

I was quite surprised at how nervous I was. After all, we had talked about this in the abstract, in terms of our future, but evidently bringing it to the here and now was a completely different matter. I expected a positive outcome, but the flutterings in my stomach were larger than any I'd felt since the first day of my first case on my first assignment. I was excited and terrified all at once. 

As I set the food out on dishes, I realized that what I really wanted was to have Ray here with me. An odd contradiction, wanting him here, yet almost dreading having him here, but true. Just as the idea of someone as quicksilver as Ray being an anchor for me would seem to be contradictory. I have never known anyone with a firmer core, however. We complement and balance each other in ways I'm only just now discovering. I think it's one of the most important reasons why we make such a good team, why our relationship will be lasting: each of us has qualities the other lacks, and when we come together, our strengths and shortcomings dovetail until it is impossible to see where one begins and the other leaves off. It is why he can read my mind when we are on a case and why I know some nights he needs to be held as tightly as I can hold him. 

Needing very much to feel close to Ray at that second, I walked quickly to the stereo and pressed play on the CD player. U2 came flowing out of the speakers, and Bono's (Ray insisted that I learn the man's name) husky voice seemed to fit my mood perfectly - and if I let my mind wander a bit, I could imagine Ray swaying and dancing to "Desire." No one can move like Ray. 

I was back in the kitchen when Ray arrived home. I heard his key in the lock, but for once I didn't head immediately for the door. I needed to take several steadying breaths, my hands clenching hard on the counter, before I did that. Still, once I had pulled myself back together, and was holding him close a few seconds later, my sense of certainly came back, and I was able to tease him by refusing to answer his questions about dinner. 

And now, as I hear him close the dresser drawer after retrieving his sweats, I set the food on the coffee table, remove the tapes from the cabinet, settle into the corner of the couch, and wait for him. 

<<<<0>>>>

Curiosity pushing me, I slide into my sweats and head back out the living room fast as I can. Gotta find out what he's up to, though if kielbasa is involved, it's probably good. 

I can't quite figure out the look on his face. But he's set this scene up, so I might as well go along. 

"So?" I'm trying for nonchalant, but I can hear the curiosity in just that one word. So much for just going along. 

"I thought we would have dinner and watch a movie." 

There's something going on behind his words too. I look at the tray of food and the movies. Steve McQueen. _Bullitt_ \- one of the greatest movies ever - and _The Thomas Crowne Affair_ \- why they'd made a remake, I'll never get. Favorite movies, favorite food? Ok, I'll bite. 

"My favorite foods, my favorite movies; what is this? Ray Kowalski Day?" 

"Not a widely recognized holiday, but a worthy one nonetheless." 

His dry voice makes me laugh and I flop down on the couch next to him. "Everything okay here, Ben?" 

"Yes, Ray, perfectly fine. I just thought this would be a pleasant way to spend the evening together: dinner, a movie." He breaks off and blushes a bit. "I thought perhaps we could, ah, cuddle on the couch while we watched one of your favorite movies." 

I'm always after him to ask for what he wants, so I reward him with a kiss and, because I love the way he blushes, I let myself linger on his lower lip. "Oh, yeah, I'm all over that. And who knows where a little cuddling might lead?" 

"I will admit to having thoughts in a similar vein, Ray." This comment comes with one of his special grins. God, I'm turning into such a sap. His blushes, his grins. Yeesh. 

I lean forward and scoot the coffee table closer. Uncovering the kielbasa, I grab a piece and feed it to him. He lingers over it, licking and sucking every bit of grease and juice off my fingers, never taking his eyes off mine. I can feel the sweet suction of his mouth and the swirl of his tongue against the pads of my fingers. This is going to be a great night. 

The whole meal is like that. We talk about our day - even though we spent a lot of it together - and cases, Dief needing to go to the vet (we ignore the huffy wolf noises - can't hear my ass), our plans for the spare bedroom, whether we should go to Ireland or Poland first whenever we get over to Europe: basically everything. And the entire time, we're feeding each other. Ginger sauce never tasted so good as off Ben's lips, and it turns out mousaka is the perfect sharing food. Both of us are more than half-hard, but this give and take we've got going has kind of cast its own spell, and Ben and I are tucked into our own little pocket of sensation. The lingering is way too fun, way too full, to break, and both of us ignore the heat pooling in our dicks. It's one of those moments you wish you could seal up and preserve forever just the way it is, all golden and shiny, full of promise, so you can pull it out years from now and savor it all over again. Like in amber or something. I try hard to memorize the way the food and Ben smell, the feel of the couch beneath us and the feel of his mouth, the sound of his quiet groans as I pop the last piece of sausage in my mouth and dance my tongue across my index finger, the way the couch creaks a bit as we shift and nudge each other. I especially want to remember the smoldering look in his eyes and the fact that the way he holds a fork turns me on. 

Finally, all that's left of the feast are a few empty dishes, two kernels of corn, and some grated ginger. Ben eases away from the way our legs have intertwined to get rid of the dishes or put in the movie, I don't know, but I pull him back. He ends up kneeling against the couch with my arms looped around his neck, his face at perfect level for kissing. Gee, how fortuitous. 

Maybe some day I should find the person who taught Ben to kiss and thank them, but that would be a little weird even for me. Still, Ben has this whole range of kisses, and the way he mixes them together . . . once he made me come just from kissing; he did this nibbling thing and it pushed me over an edge I didn't even know was there. Then there's the sucking - light, hard, easy, soft; sometimes he adds teeth, rubbing them a bit, worrying them back and forth against my skin until I'd do anything to feel those teeth and lips harder against any part of my body. When he's really turned on, he captures my whole mouth with these really long, wet kisses that can have me whimpering in about two seconds. 

At the moment, though, he's doing one of my very favorite things - he's kissing me back, hard, his hands gentle against my head. Love the feel of his strong, hot hands cupping the back of my head in this way that's totally steady and yet totally gentle - just the right level of firm that I feel all safe and cozy on the inside and hot and horny on the outside. Or maybe the other way around. Whatever. I like his hands anywhere he wants to put them, but against my head, his fingers slipping into my hair, just knocks me into orbit. 

I feel like all the love I have for him inside is going to turn into a fountain, or a firework - it's going to go off in a shower of sparks and I'm going to be left just this pile of ashes, burned out in the very best way. Shaking hard, I bury my face against his neck, burrowing. We stay that way for a couple of heartbeats, enjoying the closeness. Then he buries his face against me, too, and I can feel the quiet rumble of his voice against my skin. 

"I like you just the way you are." 

"You been watching Mr. Rogers, Ben?" I whisper back against his neck. 

"Excuse me, Ray?" 

"Never mind, just a flashback." I scuffle closer, holding him tighter, and it finally hits me. 

I'm not usually so slow. Maybe it was all the garlic in the air tonight, or maybe it was coming home and finding all my favorites - food, movie, man - laid out before me that swallowed my brain. But now, suddenly, I can see it. This is about today, about our visit from my ex-wife and all the things she said. For a quick flash, I'm worried that he feels threatened or worried or something, but I know just as quickly that isn't it. He's found a way to not so much fix as . . . counter the Close Encounters of the Stella Kind. 

And not a drop of Chardonnay or Merlot in sight. 

Sitting there, holding him, and feeling him holding me back, I can also feel the way he's giving me room to be me. Just letting me in, letting it be an us, Ray and Ben. There aren't any subtle little nudges and niggles to change. Which isn't to say he wouldn't mind skipping the Little Rascals movies I've been trying to get him to watch, but he'll watch them anyway, or just go find something else to do if I need a Little Rascals fix. All of a sudden, I've got this feeling in my stomach. It's that weird simultaneous clench and melt you get when you like someone and you get a clue that maybe, just maybe, they might return the feeling. I pull back from where I've tucked myself into his neck and kiss him, feeling all at once fourteen and thirty-seven. At least now I know how to kiss. 

Ben's fingers are warm around my collarbone as he pulls away this time, and I know my eyes are sleepy with this contentedly horny thing we've got going. I have this mixed-up, insane urge to sit on the couch and hold hands all night and to fuck him until the couch collapses all at the same time. 

"I have one more thing to give you, Ray." 

His words take me by surprise. "You mean the dinner and the movie aren't enough? What, you got some chokeberry flamb hidden in the kitchen?" 

He laughs a little and gives me this quick, huge grin that quickly gets taken over by a more serious look. I try to keep up with Quick Change Mountie, but the affection in his voice and, well, the tenderness in his eyes makes it hard for me to think. "No, Ray, strawberry shortcake. But this something is of a completely different nature." 

He leans back to reach under the couch, but he's back before I can even think to protest and hands me a small, rectangular box with a ribbon on it. The bow is so precise and perfect I know exactly who tied it. 

Grinning a little uncertainly, I tear into the package. Never let it be said paper on a Ray Kowalski present could be reused. The outside of the box doesn't give me any clues, and I shake it a bit. A bit of a rustle and a light thump, but no revelations. 

"Well, it isn't a new DVD set of the Little Rascals." I grin a bit at Ben's emphatic no. "A new tie?" This time Ben just shakes his head slowly, but I can tell that he really wants me to open the thing, so I do. 

Sliding the box open with a quiet snick, I peek over the lid. Jeezus! It's beautiful! I gape a minute at the bracelet that is a series of interwoven, complicated Celtic knots - the kind that your eye can follow all day and never find the end of. 

I know my mouth is hanging open. "It's beautiful, Ben - I - I love it." My voice is kinda hushed like I'm in church or something. 

I start to reach in and take it out so I can put it on and feel it close to my skin right now, but he stills my fingers with light pressure so that we end up kind of holding hands and the box. 

What he says next makes me glad of the anchor because I swear the rest of my body is up and floating away. 

<<<<0>>>>

His obvious pleasure in the bracelet and his eagerness to get it out of the box make the words easier to say. 

I forestall the quick motions of his fingers, wait until he looks back up, and finally say the words. I had practiced them in my head, but now I am worried that they are too stilted, too hackneyed. I blurt them out anyway, hoping they will do justice to him, and the moment, and to my feelings for him. 

"You've helped me become a stronger, more complete person, and I know I want to be with you for the rest of our lives. So, Stanley Raymond Kowalski, would you do me the honor of becoming my husband?" 

His whole body grows very still - I can feel it beneath my fingers, see it as he sits against the couch, and as the silence stretches out over eons disguised as milliseconds, I feel my insides cave in through the floor below me. The world rights itself an instant later, however, as I realize that he is holding his breath; he does that sometimes when something touches him especially deeply. 

Time returns to normal as I suddenly find my arms full of Ray, holding, grasping, pulling, pressing all at once in a flurry of arms and legs and words. 

"Yes! Ben, I can't believe it! How - when? Yes! God, yes. It's what I've wanted, too." 

That last protestation barely makes it past his lips before they are pressed to mine in a kiss that anchors me in a whole new way. 

He said yes. 

<<<<0>>>>

I feel like I'm in some kind of quantum loop wormhole thing. Me and Schrodinger's cat. Heh. I can see Ben's mouth move, see it form words, but it is like they have to travel light years to get to me. But at the same time, I know exactly what he just said - just asked me, and I feel the world tilt as I try to catch up and tell him yes! in all the ways I can think of. I don't know how long I've been sitting here paralyzed by the incredible joy exploding inside me. With a jolt, I realize it's been long enough that the incandescent hope in Ben's eyes is beginning to fade. Shit! I've been doing my old freeze-frame thing - mum said I'd always done it from when I was a baby. First time I remember was the day I got my first big-kid bike. She said I'd stood by it, frozen, holding my breath, so long she thought I was going to pass out. I just remember feeling like it was the most perfect moment ever, and I was afraid to move for fear that it would all vanish. I'd walked that bike around the block for a week before I'd dared to ride it. 

Finally, after way too long, I remember that Ben is in no way a bike and that he asked me a question. 

I explode out of my statue imitation and get to work at holding him as close and hard as I can, wishing I could find a way to get us so close we'd never come apart again. 

I babble "Yes! God, yes!" as many ways as I can think of, and I know it's sunk in when I feel his arms crush me as tightly as I'm crushing him. 

This is going to go down as another one of those amber moments. I think he whispers something just below my ear, maybe thank you, something, dunno. All that's penetrating at the moment is that he wants me for forever, that he's ready to give me a forever, too. Right now I think I could hold him for a year or five. 

Finally, after a while longer of enjoying feeling him against me, I unwrap myself - I really want to feel the bracelet against my wrist. Maybe the weight of it will convince me this is actually all really real. 

Ben must be thinking something similar because he pulls it out of the box and tosses the box over his shoulder, which totally cracks me up. Guess a happy Mountie is a messy Mountie. He grins sheepishly, which makes me giggle harder, so I'm laughing like crazy as Ben fastens my engagement bracelet onto my left arm. 

I'm never taking it off. 

Once he gets the clasp closed - my arm is moving as I laugh despite my best efforts to sit still - he does the most amazing thing. He leans down and kisses my wrist right where the ring of metal circles it. This time the tears I feel lurking aren't from laughter. 

"Ben--" I start to say something, I don't know what, but his quiet voice cuts me off. 

"I wanted to get you a ring, Ray, but because of our present situation, you wouldn't be able to wear it on your ring finger, so that would have meant either not wearing it, or wearing it on your right hand." He swallows. "And that would've been -" 

His voice wears out. I know what he's thinking. If one of us had been female - yeah, well, we aren't. "Been a denial," I finish, just as quiet. 

"Yes, exactly." He's meeting my eyes now, and I can see some sadness tingeing the happiness, which pisses me off, but at least we're living now and not fifty years ago. And at least we'll be moving to Canada in a few years. "And I won't do that, Ray. I know why we must be circumspect, but I refuse to--" 

I cut him off. "I know, babe. But I love this. And I understand - that's why . . . wait!" I leap up, almost spilling him on his ass - judging by the look on his face, I've got one seriously confused Mountie on my hands. I swoop down and kiss the look away. "I just remembered something! Be right back. Don't go anywhere." 

With another quick kiss, I dash into the bedroom, happily and supremely aware of the new weight on my left hand, and root through my sock drawer. Got it! Right there, inside one of my pairs of Canada socks. Tearing back out to Ben, I skid to a stop. He's still sitting on the floor, so I kneel down next to him and shift the small bag in my hands. The velvet is soft beneath my fingers, the drawstring silky. I'm suddenly finding it fascinating. 

A quick glance confirms I'm getting a full blast of curious Ben looking down at me, but I can feel this wave of shyness taking over, and I drop my eyes again. Feel kind of stupid with the whole shrinking maiden act, but, well . . . love'll do that to a guy. The bracelet swings as I shift my hand. What if he doesn't like it? Like it as much as I like what he got me? "Dunno, ah, dunno if you'll want to wear it - I know you're not a real big jewelry guy, but I saw it, thought of you . . ." Oh, yeah, real coherent, Ray. 

Ben stops the flows of words tumbling out of my mouth with a quick squeeze of my hands and asks, "What is it, Ray?" 

I quit stalling and meet his eyes.. "I was going to give it to you at Christmas, Ben, was going to ask you for forever, too." That makes him happy; he smiles, his eyes crinkling at the edges, the intensity in them making the blue burn bright. I pull open the drawstring and slide it out. 

It's a real simple silver chain, but it's what's hanging off of it that's important. It's an inuksuit, singular of inuksuk. His eyes get real wide and he reaches out and touches it tentatively where I have it dangling in front of him. 

"I remember you telling me about them, that an inuksuit is a signal for all sorts of things. It helps them navigate, tells people where to meet, gives directions. I saw this at a shop in Ft. McPherson and I thought of you because, well, I feel like that's what you are for me, you know? You help me figure out where I'm going, give me a place to come back to. I know, mush, but--" 

This time it's his arms wrapped around me cutting me off. 

I guess he likes it.  
<<<<0>>>>

Apparently the old bromide about great minds thinking alike is true. 

I hadn't thought to feel a lack at not having a token to match his bracelet, but now that he has given me something, I'm deeply touched. Once again Ray has found a way to warm places I didn't know I had. 

"You are, of course, correct, Ray, I don't wear jewelry, but I believe in this case I will make an exception." I keep my words purposefully formal to make him look up and see that I'm grinning. 

"Ooh, an exception; you going to have to write to the Lord High Mountie and ask for a special dispensation or something?" 

"I believe we can forego the formalities, Ray." 

"I'm honored." 

"As am I, Ray." And we both know we're talking about more than just our teasing. The kiss I give him in reply lasts longer than the last, but I want to feel his necklace around my neck, so I pull away with a last tease with my tongue against his. Leaning back a bit, I slowly unbutton the first several buttons on my shirt and pull it open, my eyes never straying from his. "Put it on." 

He blinks and swallows hard, and I can see him shift as he readjusts himself. I stifle the urge to do the same. 

"It's real flat, Ben, and I got a narrow chain so it shouldn't show underneath the uniform." 

I watch the charm as it settles against my chest, cool for a moment. It feels odd. I've never worn a necklace, or any other adornment other than what comes with the uniform, but this, this will be an ever-present reminder of Ray. I imagine being able to look down at myself in the shower and see it there. It is an image I like very much. "I believe you are correct, Ray." 

"Looks good on you, Ben." His voice is noticeably raspier than even a moment ago. 

"Does it?" I arch an eyebrow innocently, baiting him. 

"Oh, yeah. Like it a lot." He leans forward slowly, drawing the moment out, and runs his finger along the chain. The heat of his skin is a sharp contrast to the cooler metal. Then, in a move that shocks me with its power, he licks along the path his finger just took. I shudder, so he does it on the other side. 

Good Lord. 

<<<<0>>>>

His skin feels warm and silky against my mouth, the chain and the inuksuit smooth. I like the quiet clink of my teeth against the metal. He tastes so good, smells so good. 

I also like the fact that he's now wearing my necklace, my mark. Something I gave him. Something that shows he's mine. A deep streak of possessiveness rises up and pushes hard at me, urging me on. Taking both the charm and the skin under it into my mouth, I suck hard, playing my tongue against the metal so that it slides along with each lick, dancing against him. Sucking hard again, I make sure the red mark will last a while. I'm betting the dark red and the silver are going to look great together, but I think I'll look later. For the moment, I've got other things to do. 

Letting the necklace fall from my lips, I start painting a meandering line of kisses around his chest, unbuttoning his shirt as I go. Once I get the shirt off - I think I hear it land somewhere off to the left - my fingers dart up and down, sometimes following my mouth, sometimes mapping out territory for me to follow with my tongue. Without raising my head from his right nipple, I let both hands move up to the slopes of his shoulders, cupping them with my hands, feeling them move as he slides his hands restlessly against my back. I can feel his pulse pounding against my lips as I linger around the little hollow place on his neck; it matches the pounding in my ears, and I realize the rustling whisper is me, my voice, chanting one word over and over. 

"Minemineminemine." 

His head falls back limply, giving me even more neck to explore. I don't wait for another invitation even though I can't seem to stop that one word. He swallows hard, then tries to speak, says his own one word. "Yours." 

With a sudden rush of speed, I grasp his head with both hands and tip it back down so I can kiss his mouth and answer him in the only way I can at the moment. We get a friendly little war going as we each try and push the other higher. The feel of his tongue battling with mine makes me groan against his mouth. Ben's answering growl makes me gasp so hard I have to break away. 

I fall back against the couch, panting hard. He falls with me. Opening my eyes with an effort, I stare at him, watch him fight for control the same way I am. His eyes are so hot they look like that indigo glass stuff. More words spill out of my mouth, words I didn't even know I was thinking. 

"For better, for worse, Ben." 

"Yes, forever. Ray, Ray." 

He kind of plucks at my t-shirt and then yanks it over my head with a quick, jerky kind of move that on anyone else would've been kinda clumsy. From Ben, though, it just tells me how much he wants this. Then he starts making forays of his own across my chest. My ribs don't stick out as much as they did before we went north, but he doesn't let that stop him as he tries to find every single one with the tip of his tongue. The feel of it drawing damp, wiggling lines up and down my skin convinces me yet again that thoroughness is a very good thing. But then in the next instant, either his tongue or my skin has turned to fire; I can feel it making burning tracks every where it goes. Suddenly, I've got to have more of his skin, see more of it. Now. 

"Up, Ben. C'mon. Up. Got to have you. Now. Don't make me wait. Up so I can taste, gotta taste." I'm not sure any of that made sense, but I must've gotten the verbs right at least since after taking one more nibble around my nipple, Ben stands up. It takes him a minute since he's not too steady on the pins, but he's with it enough to look down at me, his eyes huge and wild, and cup the back of my head with his big hand. Oh, man! I lean back into it, loving the heat of his hand. Wanting more of that heat, I lean forward and nuzzle the ridge tenting the front of his jeans, hitting the source of the heat. 

Nuzzling and licking through the jeans is fun, and I can feel his whole body getting more and more rigid each time the damp warmth from my breath soaks through, but it isn't enough. Not enough Ben. Cotton loses out to Ben hands down. Some day I'm going to convince him that zippers are a nifty little invention, but at the moment, the buttons are working just fine. They give me a perfect excuse to go slow and make sure I cover each inch of exposed skin completely. Second button, though, and I get a shock of my own. 

No underwear. 

I sputter. "Fuck me, Ben! You trying to give me a heart attack?" 

He looks confused for a moment, but I run a finger along the bare skin, along the curly hair, and he figures it out. He flashes this wild grin with lots of teeth. I have to bite my lip to keep from tackling him down to the floor and ending this right now. 

"It seemed . . . appropriate, Ray." 

"Oooh, forethought, intent." I wrap my hand around the cock that's in easy reach now and squeeze just a bit. The image of Ben planning ahead, thinking about this, and slipping on his jeans without the usual starched-`til-they-crackle shorts burns though my mind. I can see him pulling on the jeans . . . bouncing into them . . . Jeezus! 

I can't do any more waiting. Falling forward again, I swallow as much of him as I can. Which is more than I used to be able to. I make up for the difference with my hand around the base, and with my other hand cup his balls in my palm, lifting them a bit, just a bit, in rhythm with my sucking. 

I love running my tongue around the crown of his cock. The smooth, hot skin always feels so slick, and nothing makes Ben shudder like me fluttering my tongue against him, making sure I've got every drop of pre-come, making sure I cover every little bit. I love the musky taste. Makes my mouth water every time. 

Not letting him fall from my mouth, I start moving my whole head back and forth, bobbing a bit, drawing him deep and then pulling back so my lips create a strong ring around him. Ben's legs are quivering against me; I can feel him shaking hard, feel the way his hand at the back of my head is straining not to squeeze too hard or force me against him. I'm loving the heavy fullness in my mouth and the strong warmth against my hair. Feel like I'm part of a big feedback loop that's connected right to my own dick which is real, real thankful for the sweats I put on earlier. 

Knowing Ben's got to be having a hard time holding back from pulling me against him, I figure the least I can do is reward him, so with a final, gentle squeeze, I let go of his balls, and after shucking his pants off, I reach back up to his ass. Now, this is a whole different kind of smooth, hot skin. Love it too. The curves fit so nice in my hands. But this time that's not what I'm here for. 

This time I slide right along the crease, letting my fingers play up and down right at the surface, not really dipping in, just dancing at the beginning of the curve in. Out of the corner of my eye, I can see Ben's free hand clenching a fist over and over, moving restlessly against his thigh, but that's not doing anything to stop the noises coming out of him. The low moan he's been making is almost constant now, but it sinks and then gets higher as I drop my hand to the back of his upper thigh and urge his legs apart just that little bit more. Oh, yeah. 

Slowing down, I ease back to nice, gentle licks and laps with the occasional suck thrown in just for variety's sake and let my fingers slide in further, let them linger. I tease him for a moment longer circling around the prize, but I can't hold out for long. I want it too much myself. I want to feel him opening under my fingers, hear the way he's going to yell, and taste his response too much to wait any longer. 

So I do it. 

My fingers stroke over the tight little bundle of muscle at the entrance to his body. For a quick moment, he clenches around me and I gasp around him. His groan answers me yet again. And then he does it. He relaxes, and I'm there, I slipping inside, pressing in and feeling him where he's even hotter. He's going to burn us both up. 

Letting one finger slide in deeper, I twist it just a bit at the same time I make a fast circle around his head with the flat of my tongue. The way he chokes my name sends a tremor through me. I almost come as he half collapses over me, his hands pressing hard against my shoulders, catching himself and straining to stay standing. He pushes back against my fingers. The slide and push of us both together sends my finger plunging right against his prostate. I do it again just to get another taste of him. He's dripping now, getting closer, and I'm sure the wet spot on my sweats is the size of several loonies by now. His hips skitter against me as I find a `specially good angle, so I do it again just to feel his hips quiver. 

Shifting, I suck Ben deeper again and slide another finger inside the rapidly loosening ring when I feel his hand move again. This time, though, he's pulling back, not straining to not push forward. I don't want to let go. I want to feel him come in my mouth, feel him explode and swallow him whole, but the urgent tone as he says my name makes me pull back. I don't have time to do more than lick my lips though before he says something more than my name. 

"I want you inside me." 

The words send a shock exploding through me that I can feel all the way from my head to my cock. That weird melting clench is back, but this time it's my whole body being rocked with it. Now it's my hips skittering forward against him. I groan against Ben again, way deeper this time, needy, hot, wanting it now. 

<<<<0>>>>

I don't know whether to rock forward into his mouth or thrust back onto his fingers. The teasing, wet heat of his mouth or the strong, twisting push of his fingers. With one I'm inside him, the other he's inside me. I want everything at once. Caught between the two, I'm trapped in a limbo of indecision and sensation that leaves me quivering around his fingers, thrusting in his mouth, iridescent sparks swirling up and down my whole body. 

I can feel myself opening around his fingers, which he takes immediate advantage of, sliding deeper inside of me. His long fingers push and slip against the sensitive tissue and all I can do is moan and pant. I wish I had Ray's capacity to curse fluently, but even if I could, I don't know how my brain could produce more than fragments. 

The warm ache from his fingers stretching me blends with the warm ache tightening my testicles, and as I fight not to come, I suddenly need more of Ray inside me. I want the warm ache to turn hot and to feel the fullness that only happens when he comes inside me. I almost lose the chance to come with him inside me when he plunges his fingers even deeper and turns them, bending his longest finger at just the right angle, and I think my moans have turned to sobs. 

Drawing frantic, gasping breaths, I manage to pull him back and find a way to ask for what I want, what I need. Him inside me. Now. 

Thank God he finds the idea as arousing as I do. His pupils are so dilated only a thin nimbus of blue frames them. I run my hands through his hair. He thrusts forward, branding my legs and kisses my palm as I ghost my fingers over his face. This feels so damned good. 

Pushing him down, back against the couch, I drop on top of him, tear his sweats off, and grind our erections together. I can't stop the growls bursting from me as I finally gain access to more of him, but the smoothness of our skin and the coarseness of the hair rubbing up against each other distracts me for a moment. I stare down at us, our erections straining up together, florid, stiff, each leaking copiously. Catching both of us with one hand, I slide my hand along both of our lengths, up, down, up, down. The groan I force out of Ray and the way his head drops back onto his shoulders is beautiful. Beyond beautiful. Stunning. I consider taking us both over the edge like this, watching his face as he comes from the movements of my hands, but the draw of watching his face as I take him inside my body and seeing him come from being inside me spurs me on. So I release us both and reach under the couch for the lubricant I placed there earlier tonight. 

His head snaps back up at the sound of the lid popping open. His tongue flashes out as he licks his lips and gasps, "Yes! Ben, hurry." Swooping down, I seize his mouth, searching for that teasing tongue. Simultaneously, I scoop up one of his hands and squeeze out some of the lubricant onto his fingers. They tense for a moment, but then he hurriedly moves his arm back around me, and I can feel him there, right where I want him, opening me again, scissoring his fingers to make room, and this time it's so much better with the added slickness. This time I am a much more active participant, pushing back hard against him, bucking to urge him on. It works. With a final, deep thrust of his fingers, he withdraws them and pushes me down along his lap until we are in the perfect position, me kneeling up above him, his knees slightly bent behind me, his erection fiercely hot against me. 

"Ben, take me inside. Please, now. Let me fuck you." 

The gasped words slam through me. Every ounce of the desperation that had eased as I watched the need on Ray's face floods back, and grasping him firmly in one hand, I kneel up and start taking him inside me. The quivering in my thighs and the restless stroking of his hands up and down across my chest and back don't leave me much chance to take him in slowly. It is the sudden score of his nails into my back, though, that sends me plunging down on him until he's completely inside me. There it is, there's the burn right where I wanted it, right where I needed it. 

I circle my hips in a tight little arc. He tries to thrust up, but my weight pins him down, and the move does little but seat him even more firmly inside me. Ray's eyelids flutter as he closes them and his voice rumbles out. "Jeezus, Ben, this feels so damned good." 

I groan my agreement, and leaning down over him, stilling my hips, I kiss him. There is nothing gentle about this kiss and I pull him against me, holding him hard, plastering us together. Then, unable to stay still for even one more instant, I rock against him, shifting our angle slightly each time so that neither of us can fall into an easy rhythm. I want to keep him hard for as long as possible before feeling him spill inside me. 

But, as usual, Ray surprises me, and as I rock us together, and lift up to gain leverage to slam back down, he thrusts up, matching my downward motion and I lose all control. We slam into each other, the sounds of our skin hitting as arousing as the groans echoing between us. Rocking together, lifting, falling together we find a hard, fast rhythm and I push him harder, harder, as I writhe over him. 

I can feel the sting of his bracelet against my back, branding me as his as he pulls me close, holding tight as he can, and the sudden bite of it is the final grace note. Clutching him, my head collapsed to his shoulder, I come hard, spilling between us over and over. There are no words for this, no way to describe the incandescent pleasure shorting out all thought, all capability for it. I can only feel. Feel the wetness between us, feel his hands soothing and arousing all at once, feel his moist breath panting against my throat, feel every pleasure center in my body explode all at once. 

He manages somehow to hold on through my orgasm, but the last waves of pleasure are still shuddering through me as he bends his knees a bit higher and bucks up against me. I push back, meeting him, the motion sends more sparks zinging up my spine. And then he comes, shooting deep inside me with a groan that shakes his chest. I can feel him throbbing inside me, his heartbeat pounding inside his chest, and it's like the whole entire world is pulsing. 

And then it all fades away and we drift. 

My first realization is the slight scratchiness in my throat telling me I must have screamed, but I can't summon much concern. Satiation does have a way of obliterating smaller worries. I wish we could stay like this all night, but between sore knees and sore backs, it just isn't a good idea. Regretfully, I slide us over to the side, holding Ray close as I do so, and pulling a light afghan from the couch, I cover us up. That's as much as I can manage at the moment. 

A soft kiss against my chest tells me Ray is coming back to me, and the quiet lick he gives to the chain around my neck feels like the perfect bookend to the evening. 

"So, Ben." His voice sounds scratchy, too. "How often does Ray Kowalski Day come around?" 

"I believe it's a floating holiday, Ray. Which, it seems to me, means it can be celebrated whenever we like." 

"Greatness. And what about Benton Fraser Day? It float too?" 

"Perhaps." I have to limit my answer to one word; any more than that and I know I will start laughing. 

"Hmmm," he drawls against my skin. "I'll have to search some of those arcane journals of yours and see what I can come up with. Proper preparation and all that." 

He sounds so pleased with himself, I can't hold back my chuckles this time; I can feel his grin against me. 

After a moment, he speaks again around a large yawn. "I'm totally wiped, buddy; too bad we have to get up and go to work tomorrow." 

I can feel myself blushing and have to clear my throat. "Well, um, no, actually we don't." 

He pulls up away and props himself up on an elbow. "What?" 

"Ah, while you were up getting a cup of coffee this afternoon, I took the liberty of asking Lt. Welsh if you could start your vacation tomorrow considering your completion of the Collins case." 

"And he said yes?" Ray is gaping. 

I smile. "As a matter of fact, he said that he was afraid of the world coming to an end since you were caught up with all your paperwork and that we had better bring him back a trout." 

"Sounds like a yes to me!" Ray crowed and kissed me. 

"That was my interpretation as well. Inspector Peters is only too happy for me to use up some of my comp time. I thought we could go up to the cabin early." 

This time his kiss is longer and is accompanied by fingers running through my hair. 

I'm pleased to see that his eyes are glowing with happiness. "So, kinda like a honeymoon." 

"Yes, exactly that." We both grin. 

<<<<0>>>>

"Wow, six whole days, some woods, fishing, a hike or two, big fireplace, that jumbo tube of lube. Sounds like a plan to me!" 

"I'm delighted you approve, Ray." 

"Give me a few minutes and I'll show you just how much I approve, Ben." I reach up and snag one of the pillows off the couch and prop it under our heads. Figure we might as well get comfy because I don't feel much like moving, and I've got a couple of thoughts involving lots of floor space drifting in the back of my head. The coffee table's pretty easy to move. 

I wrap my arms around him tight and just hold on The feel of his legs wrapping around mine warms me as much as the weight of my bracelet against my wrist. Into the hush, I whisper, "I like you too, Ben." 

The End 

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End Like by Aouda Fogg:

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